


Contentment

by fangirl42



Series: A Dog's Tale [2]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Campfire, Emotions have scents, M/M, Other, Some make sense only to him, the Dog gives everyone a name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl42/pseuds/fangirl42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The Sister = Leliana<br/>The Witch = Morrigan<br/>The Man = Sten<br/>The Boy = Warden<br/>The Mate - Zev<br/>The old Mage = Wynne<br/>The First = Alistair</p></blockquote>





	Contentment

The sun is warm here. So much warmer than the home I left behind when the end came for the Boy and his Mate. The Man took me with him when he left, travelling back to his home. A strange home it was, too. Filled with giants like and yet unlike the Man. They are confused when he returns home with me. Mabari are not known here.

This place is difficult to understand. I spend much time wandering the jungle, learning the new scents of this place. New animals, new plants, new people. The Qunari, they call themselves. They like to believe that they each have a place and in that place they are content. On the wind, their emotions tell a different story.

Many here are not content. Contentment has a unique scent, one that warms and surrounds you with a sense of fulfillment and peace. It is a much rarer scent here among the giants than they would have you believe. The Man, once he returned here, has not smelled of it once. He had, back home, when the Boy had found his soul. In the years since our arrival here, he has not found it again.

I have found some measure of it, however. Mostly, I find it in the simple things. Lying in the sun after a long trek chasing the odd cats that live in the jungle; having my belly scratched by the Man at night; tonight, I find it in a memory.

The Boy and his Companions gather around the fire. We are somewhere along our trek to the stout folk. The day had been uneventful, a rarity in our journey. No one begging for our help, no darkspawn and their bitter taint attacking us. Just the warm sun, the fresh air and the living forest all around us. 

The Man and I brought a brace of rabbits to the stew pot. Chasing them, following their scent, the Man on my heels as we ran through the pine and brush; it was freedom at its best. The Boy often sent the Man and I to hunt. He seemed to sense that the giant needed time away from the noise of the others. As for me, it was a chance to simply run and give chase.

That night, even the Witch joins us. The rich rabbit stew filling our bellies, the fire warming us and the sounds of the forest wrapping around us in the dark is pleasant and relaxing. Wine is found and the stories begin.

On one side of the fire, away from the rest, the Witch sits. Her magic leaves a bitter scent, one that smells faintly of bear. I have seen her in that form and am glad that for now she is on our side. Someday, she will turn on the Boy. I have smelled it on her from the first. Though they know not why, no one sits close to her. They can tell, some part of them can scent her treachery but their human senses are too dull. 

Closest to her is the old Mage. She keeps herself between the Boy and the Witch often. She smells faintly of death, though it is well masked underneath the tang of lyrium and roses. She sips her wine slowly and watches the others as they relax around the fire. She looks on them as children, especially the Boy and his fellow Warden.

He sits next to her, the First Companion. From the moment we met the First, I knew he was a gentle soul; innocent in so much, yet fierce in his loyalty. It is this loyalty that defines him, underlies his scent of taint and steel. He blushes and embarrassment rolls of him in waves that make me sneeze. Someone has made a joke at his expense and everyone laughs. 

The Sister leans over from her seat further down and comforts the First. She is the most confusing Companion the Boy has gathered so far. She sings often and seems very happy, yet her scent is one of melancholy and falsehood. Despite this, I trust her. The Boy and the First think her mad, but useful. What they do not know is that she tries to reinvent herself each day. It is one of the benefits of being Mabari – people talk to us, thinking us incapable of true understanding. The Sister and I have sat many watches together on this Journey. She has told me her tale, the true one, and how she prays to her Maker that she might one day atone.

Further around the circle of the fire sits the Boy and his Mate. The Boy, and he will always be that child to me, the one who smelled of oats and milk on that day long ago, is now a man grown. Burdened with responsibilities and sorrows beyond his years, in this moment he is just the Boy as he sits with his back to an old stump with his Mate sitting between his legs. Their love is young yet, but I smell it on them all the same.

The Mate believes he is immune to love yet it is from him I first caught the scent. As he sits there, nestled in the arms of the Boy, he is content. He is a far different man than the killer we met all those weeks ago. Then, he sought his death on the blades of the Boy and the First. Now, he protects them. The stench of desperation no longer overwhelms the sandalwood and oil that is his scent. 

I lay on the other side of the Boy, between him and the Man. He watches the others in stern silence, unsure still of his place. His frustration overwhelms all else. Soon, he will take out that frustration on the Boy, but not this night. For now, he tries to relax, though it is difficult for him. The Man also places himself between the Boy and the Witch. Much like the old Mage, he understands that she represents something dangerous. Both mages make him uncomfortable, his fear seeping under the frustration whenever they wield their magics. 

Around the fire this night, the humans pass their wine and tell their stories. Stories of colorful wonders in a foreign land from the Sister, stories of death and seduction from the Mate, tales of neglect hidden beneath hilarity from the First, and memories of family from the Boy that are both bittersweet and droll. Even tales from the Witch and the Man, though they lack the wit of the others. Still, the night is enjoyable. The wine and tales flow long after the old Mage and the Man wander off to their tents claiming tiredness after the Witch leaves. 

The rest of us – the Boy, the Mate, the First, the Sister and I – move closer to each other, reluctant to end the camaraderie that has sprung up this night. I move to lie beside the Sister and she slips her hand into my ruff. She knows just where to scratch and soon the warmth of the fire and her gentle hands lull me into a state of complete relaxation. The First slips closer to her and she leans into him, smiling. Closing her eyes, she begins to sing.

It is a love song, one that brings a smile to the Boy’s lips. He leans down and whispers in his Mate’s ear and is rewarded with a chuckle and a kiss. The First looks away, uncomfortable, until the Sister slips her free hand into his. He stills, uncertain and nervous for a moment, before he, too, smiles. 

I sigh and close my eyes. This memory is a good one. It is a moment of serenity before the stone and gloom of the stout folk, before the treachery and corruption of Denerim, before the sacrifice and death that engulfs us at the end. This is a memory I wish to hold close – a simple day of companionship and trust, a happy day amongst too many days of horror and loss. 

A good day.

**Author's Note:**

> The Sister = Leliana  
> The Witch = Morrigan  
> The Man = Sten  
> The Boy = Warden  
> The Mate - Zev  
> The old Mage = Wynne  
> The First = Alistair


End file.
